


After the fact

by meletes_muse



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Episode: s03e07 Normandy, F/M, Kink, Punishment, Spanking, post-mission sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meletes_muse/pseuds/meletes_muse
Summary: After the events of 'Normandy', Helen and James need to decompress.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sanctuary.
> 
> Content note: Age play, spanking.

_"James, there's one part of the legends that's actually true: there's no way to really kill a fire elemental. It's kind of why they call them elemental."_

_"You're telling me this now?"*_

 

 

"Oh, _darling_ ," Helen arches her back in pleasure as James reacquaints himself with her body. Their lovemaking is usually less urgent, but she supposes war will do that to people. And the shock of seeing John of course. She slams her eyes shut in frustration. She couldn't seem to keep him out of their bed.

But all thoughts of her former fiancé are banished a second later, when James swipes his tongue across her most sensitive spot. She gasps and grips the sheets, thrusting upwards to meet his hungry lips as he sucks hard on her clit. She feels his strong hands on her thighs, spreading them wide, pinning her to the bed. "Oh, darling, _yes_ ," she rasps, when his tongue continues it's insistent and thorough explorations. _So very thorough_. She moans.

Usually, he's gentle, drawing her pleasure out slowly. He's excellent at foreplay. But tonight his lips are urgent, his tongue fast and insistent, dominant. Helen lets out a strangled cry as she feels a finger slip inside her. She's so close. " _More, James, please._ " James hums in agreement and the vibrations run right through her. She cries out again as he adds a finger. _Two fingers. Dear Lord._ She hears herself cry out again, with wild abandon. She's thrashing on the bed now, panting in a way that she's quite sure is unladylike, if she were in any position to care about such things.

She needs more, though. And James, ever perceptive, even in this, _especially in this_ , senses it. For a moment, he's gone, as he moves up the bed to claim her lips, beard rough against the smooth skin of her cheeks. He pulls back, looking hungrily into her eyes as he braces his arms on either side of her shoulders. She moans as she feels his hardness nudge against her, then cries out as he plunges into her. "Oh, _James_!" She lifts her hips up to meet his second thrust, crying out again. On the third thrust, she cups his buttocks, and this time it's James who groans. A spike of pleasure shoots though her at the sound, and her desperate moan goes up an octave. James groans again, and this time, when he thrusts into her, she comes apart in his arms, hands pulling him desperately against her. He thrusts again, and she feels him follow her with a strangled cry of his own, pleasure coursing through her.

Then they're still. James drops his forehead to meet hers, and for a long moment, the only sound is their heavy breathing. When he lifts his head, there's a roguish grin on his lips and she laughs, low and uninhibited, stroking his well-toned arms. He leans forward to claim her lips, and this time it's slow and languid.

Helen hums appreciatively as James shifts to a more comfortable position, propping himself up against the ample pillows of her blessedly soft bed. Helen lays her head on his shoulder, right arm resting across his abdomen. His suit prevents her from stroking his chest, but at this angle her arm fits snugly around his waist. And before Helen knows it, she's drifted off into a sound sleep.

 

  
When Helen wakes, the morning light is streaming through the curtains. James is already up, propped against the headboard with the morning paper.

"Good morning, my darling." There's that roguish grin again. Helen had been worried that their mission had made him feel his age, but it seems to have done just the opposite.

"What time is it?"

"Just after ten."

Helen starts. It's unusual for her to sleep past seven.

"We did rather exert ourselves, my dear."

She sits up, joining James against the headboard as he pours her a cup of tea from the pot by the bedside. It's not as hot as it should be, but after a couple of days roughing it in the French countryside, it's heavenly.

"That was a rather close call," he says, and Helen nods her agreement. She shifts closer to James so that their shoulders are touching. She wants him close. _Needs_ him close after the events of the past few days.

They talk for a while about trivialities. It seems strange after such a momentous event, but she supposes it will always be there in the back of her mind. She can't imagine she'll be forgetting it any time soon, at any rate.

"You did rather surprise me when you said that fire elementals can't be killed."

Helen stills. James' voice is conversational, but she hears the reproach nonetheless.

"Would it have made a difference?"

James considers her words.

"Probably not. Not in my decision to go to France, in any case. Though I might have been a little more prepared."

Helen sighs. She's not sure why she didn't tell James, now she thinks about it. She's never doubted him, not consciously, at least. But she's never been very good at sharing problems. By the time she'd realised it might be relevant, James had already been injured and she hadn't wanted to burden him further. She'd been sure they'd be able to come up with a solution. And they had. Though it had been rather closer than either of them would have liked.

"I'm sorry, James."

She doesn't elaborate, but she thinks he knows. They've been more or less cohabiting for the past decade and they were close, even before that.

"It's already forgiven," he says, taking her free hand in his, thumb gently massaging her palm.

"Thank you."

And it's larger than just his understanding in that moment. For her unborn child, for his support when John did all those unspeakable things.

"I wouldn't thank me just yet."

"Pardon?"

His roguish grin is back, but there's steel in his eyes. And desire too, she thinks. She raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Well," he says, looking at her intently, "I couldn't possibly let such an oversight go unpunished."

Helen freezes, but a traitorous spike of desire shoots through her. They've played with this - whatever _this_ is - before, but it's never been quite so real, quite so connected to their lives. She feels her breath quicken.

James' lips twitch upwards. He can obviously tell how much this makes her want to bed him.

"You're usually so well behaved," he continues, conversationally, "but I can see some that firm discipline is in order. Lying to me is really quite unacceptable, Helen. Surely you didn't think I would let you get away with it?"

Helen's cheeks flush as she boldly meet his gaze.

"I expect an answer, young lady."

"No, Sir."

That's his cue, his cue that she wants this, _needs_ this, even. It's not something that she can really explain, but it's always been there.

"Go and stand in the corner," James orders, "and from now on, you will address me as Uncle James or Uncle. Is that clear?"

Helen gapes. "You can't be serious?"

But her outrage is mostly embarrassment. And they both know it. She continues to blush furiously under James' scrutiny.

"I'm afraid I am," he eyes her intently, "but I could send you off to finishing school, if you'd prefer?"

James winks. He's giving her an out.

"No," she says, quickly. _Too quickly_.

James raises an eyebrow. _Smug bastard._ Helen stares back at him, defiantly.

"No, what?"

Helen grimaces, "No, _Uncle James_."

"Good girl," he praises, and Helen squirms, "though I'd watch that tone if I were you."

She wonders how often he's done this. He was always too proper to bed the hired help, and surely no respectable Victorian woman would have tolerated such treatment. But then, she thinks about all the things she and John got up to, and she wonders just how many Victorian women had actually been remotely respectable once their corsets had come off.

James is looking at her expectantly, and she remembers that she's supposed to be standing in the corner. "Oh!" She exclaims, "Sorry," she closes her eyes, and her cheeks flush, this is terribly embarrassing, "Uncle."

Her silk slip rustles as walks to the corner, cheeks burning.

"Hands on your head," James says.

She closes her eyes again, but acquiesces with a small sigh. It's dreadfully humiliating, far worse than being bound to the bed and flogged, but she can still feel the shameful wetness pooling between her legs. It's terribly inappropriate, but she's so very aroused.

She listens as James wanders around the room, getting dressed, then shaving, then making the bed. _How long is he going to make her stand here?_ When she hears the newspaper unfold, she curses quietly.

"What was that?"

She smirks. At least she's finally got his attention.

"Nothing, Uncle James."

Helen's tone is cheeky. In for a penny, she thinks. 

"I don't expect to hear that kind of language from a well-brought-up young lady," James chides.

She hears him fold the newspaper, and then more movement as he walks across the room.

"Come here, Helen."

When she turns, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, black polished shoes planted firmly on the floor. His jacket's still hanging on the wardrobe door, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing muscular arms. Helen feels her stomach flip. She wanted this, but now the moment's here, she has to clamp down on the urge to hurry from the room. _She must be out of her mind_.

James seems to sense her fear, and he beckons her to stand in front of him. He takes her hands and draws her down to sit next to him on the bed. Helen relaxes when he reaches up to cup her cheek, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

"Now," he says sternly, "do you know why you're being punished?"

Helen nods, biting her lip, and he raises an eyebrow.

She clears her throat. "Yes, Uncle." 

"Tell me," he commands.

"I... lied to you," she frowns, "though it wasn't really a lie, exactly, more that, I didn't really think you needed to know. I -"

James cuts her off, sternly. "It was a lie by omission, Helen, and you know it."

She nods, but this this time he doesn't correct her. Instead, he takes her hands and guides her across his strong knees, manoeuvring her so that her upper body is resting on the bed.

Helen gasps as she feels his hand caress her silk-clad backside, squirming when he draws her slip up to bare her. He rests his hand on her exposed skin. Helen tenses. But the smack she's expecting doesn't come. Instead, James says, "I intend you to feel this lesson for some time, young lady." And in place of his hand, she feels a cool, hard object being smoothed over her backside, pressed into her skin.

" _Dear God, James, is that my_ -"

But before she can finish, James raises the hairbrush and brings it down with a loud crack. Helen yells and kicks her legs out. _Damn, it stings_. James doesn't stop, landing a flurry of continuous smacks on her upturned ass. After the shock of the first, she tries to stay silent, wriggling on James' knee, gripping the bedsheets. But as the smacks continue, she cries out, pleading for James to stop. James is obviously intent on delivering a sound thrashing, though, and pays little heed to her cries and pleas. Soon, she feels tears on her cheeks. "Yeow! Ouch! _James!_ " She cries out, as James focuses on the delicate skin where thigh meets bottom.

Then, just when she thinks she can't take anymore, and she's about to use that word they agreed on long ago, James stops. Helen gasps, wriggling on James' lap, as he softly massages her painful backside.

"There, there, now," he soothes, his free hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

"Ow," Helen grumbles, dashing tears from her cheeks as James guides her to her feet. He cups her face in his hands and wipes her still-wet cheeks with his thumbs. She rubs her backside, grimacing, and James kisses her nose playfully.

"You're a terror, James Watson," she grouses, but leans into his embrace.

"I'm sure you'll live," James' voice is low in her ear. She can feel how aroused he is. Usually, they cuddle for a while afterwards, but this morning Helen's overcome by desire. She pulls away, placing her hands on James' chest and pushing him gently backwards towards the bed.

"Well, _Uncle James_ ," she smirks at his look of surprise, "you've had your fun, and now I'm going to have my wicked way with _you_."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> * Sanctuary, Season 3, Episode 7, 'Normandy'.


End file.
